


Weathering the storm

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, F/M, Fireplaces, Skiing, Stranded, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Illya's luck changes when he takes refuge in an UNCLE owned house located in upstate New York to escape a sudden blizzard.





	Weathering the storm

 

 

 

Illya Kuryakin was driving a black UNCLE sedan, returning from a successful assignment in Canada. He’d crossed the border without incident and while heading southward through New York state he listened to the radio to pass the time.  Driving straight through to headquarters would take another seven hours at least, but he was up to the task.

He was looking forward to getting home and having a massage courtesy of UNCLE as well as using the sauna in headquarters. That would take care of his sore muscles.

Tapping one hand on the steering wheel. Illya whistled along with the song that was playing. He was feeling pretty satisfied with himself, despite the residual discomfort from his assignment.

It was an odd song called _Sukiyaki;_ the title had nothing to with the Japanese lyrics, as sukiyaki was a Japanese dish of cooked beef while the song itself was about a lost love. He’d given up a while ago trying to figure out the relationship between the title and the song as there simply was none.

It was a crisp October day; that he supposed was contributing to his disposition while the landscape however, was not. The fall foliage was surprisingly drab this year and he reminded himself to investigate why it was so. His curiosity was as insatiable as ever.

The song was suddenly interrupted by an emergency weather broadcast, one that he found a bit surprising given how clear the skies were. It was in fact disconcerting to the Russian, as he could usually sense these sort of things by reading signs in nature. It was something he’d been taught by his babushka so long ago. He had no inkling of this impending storm that had just been announced.

Illya pulled to the side of the road and quickly assembled his communicator.

“Channel D- Waverly.”

“Yes Mister Kuryakin,” Alexander Waverly cleared his throat as he answered;  he was fighting off the effects of a cold.

“Sir I just heard a weather report saying a snow storm is moving in very quickly. They are predicting a possible blizzard. That could prove problematic as I will not be able to make it to the city before the storm hits, and am not familiar with the area. I also find this dramatic change of weather very odd, given it is October and the sky is quite blue as well as clear.”

“Yes, _ahem,_ but not impossible. I remember the Great Blizzard of 1947, well that was in December I suppose…” the Old Man didn’t seem quite like himself, “that’s neither here nor there. I was given word regarding this situation just a few moments ago. Best to get you to a safe place where you can weather the storm. Where are you at present?”

“Past Buffalo, not far from a small village called Ellicottville.” He looked up, seeing a sign for it.

“Ahhh yes, one of those weekend ski areas. Hmmm, since this is Monday I doubt many people will be around.There is a small house owned by us just outside the main part of town. At times it has doubled as a safe house, but most of the time it’s occupied by our people using the slopes there on the oddly named Poverty Hill. I believe Mr. Solo has taken advantage of it himself several times while on a weekend skiing holiday... _ahem,_ cough. Devil of a cold this...”

Waverly couldn’t see the Russian’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Illya had no idea the Command had such recreational facilities...leave it to Napoleon to know and not tell him.

“Not a motel sir?”

“No I’m afraid not young man. Accounting has put its collective foot down on hotel or motel accommodations when an agent is no longer on assignment. Do you have enough cash to pay for a room on your own?”

“No sir I am afraid not. I spent most of of my pocket money on fuel and a meal while in Canada, for which I presume I will be reimbursed. Or is Accounting putting their foot down on that as well?”

“They haven’t gone that far as of yet...well then the ski house must do Mr. Kuryakin.”

“Bourgeois,” Illya mumbled to himself. Still it was a place to stay and far more desirable than sitting out a blizzard in a cold car.

The Old man gave him the address and directions, saying there were pots, pans and so forth, as well as bedding, and linens but advised his agent to lay in food supplies as there was most likely none in the house.

“In the meantime Mr. Kuryakin I’ll see to it the power is on and well, hopefully the furnace will be in good working order. It’s not due to be serviced until November.”

“Yes sir, thank you. I will contact you once I arrive. Kuryakin out.”

Illya made it into town just as ominous looking dark clouds began to roll in. So far there was little to see other than a few brick buildings, several businesses that included a ski shop, hardware store, and a barbershop...all were dark and the streets were empty. He pulled curbside when he spotted a young boy of around twelve or so, moving quickly along the sidewalk while carrying a bulging paper sack supported by a cardboard box. Rolling down the window, he called o the hoy. The temperature had dropped drastically as he could see his breath in the air as he did so.

“Excuse me young man, could you tell me where your grocery store is located?”

“Oh that’ll be Pratt’s. It’s right around the corner off Main Street, not much left though.”

“How is that?”

“Don’t cha know there’s a big storm coming?”

“Yes I am aware of it and I have need of supplies. I will be staying at a house on Clement Street.”

“There’s only one house there, it’s used as a ski house on the weekends. Won’t be any skiing for a bit, if that’s what you’re here for. It’s gonna take a while to clean up after this storm if it’s as big as the weatherman is saying it’ll be. Gonna be a doozie! That’s what my dad said. Listen Mister, I gotta go. My ma will be worried if I don’t get home quick. She told me to get the makings of stew from Pratt’s but she’s gonna be mad because I couldn’t get everything.” The boy shrugged. ”But she’s a good cook so I suppose she’ll figure out something.”

With that the boy took off, disappearing around a corner.

Illya rolled up the window with a shiver. Unfortunately he was not equipped for very cold weather as the month of October had been somewhat mild so far.

He was wearing suit, his black trench coat with a liner, and had with him a duffle bag containing a sweat shirt, sweat pants, a turtleneck, underwear, socks and his travel kit. That was it, no wellies, no thermal underwear, gloves or hat for that matter.

He headed off to the supermarket, went inside and stared for a second. The boy hadn’t exaggerated as most of the shelves were indeed bare.

“Can I help you with something sir?” A clerk called to him.

“I need food to help me ride out the storm.”

“Sorry there won’t be much to choose from, pretty much all the locals were in this morning and cleaned us out, mostly. Go ahead and look; just so you know we’ll be closing in twenty minutes. Gotta lock up before the snow starts.”

Illya nodded as he grabbed a metal shopping basket; it wouldn’t take him long as it was a very small store.

He managed to find a few cans of cream of mushroom soup, one can of tomato soup, and two chicken noodle. He got the last loaf of Wonder bread. A package of yellow American cheese slices, a dozen eggs, a stick of butter, two cans of turkey gravy, a jar of pickles, a handful of fresh mushrooms and a eight potatoes.

The rest of the fresh vegetables had been cleaned out as were the canned ones. There were no beans, no bacon, actually there was no meat at all, not even tins of Spam.

He found a bag of pretzels and box of tea bags; no loose tea, but then again beggars could not be choosers. The bags would do, though in his estimation they contained nothing but tea dust. He’d become accustomed to using them at headquarters, and even kept a box at home in case he ran out of his supply of loose tea. The last things he picked up were a box of wooden matches and a small supply of emergency candles, just in case he lost power. Those he was surprised to find.

“No meat?” He asked the clerk.

“That would be at the butcher shop down the street, but sorry they’re already closed. Say Mister could you use a hat and scarf, you don’t exactly look like you’re prepared for snow.” The clerk eyed Illya’s black trench coat.

“Yes actually I could, I was returning to New York city on a business trip when I heard the report of this fast approaching storm. My luggage and outerwear are at best, minimal. You have them here?”

“Pretty much everyone was caught off guard, that’s why the store is cleaned out...people sort of panicked. Hardware store didn’t even get in the rock salt yet. Now if you look over there in the corner, I have a bin with some knit hats and scarves made by our local librarian, Mrs. Dunbar. No winter gloves, but there’s work gloves that’ll help if you have to go outside to shovel snow...sorry I don’t have any shovels. The hardware store would have them but it’s already closed.”

“Thank you, these will do fine.” Illya selected a dark green knit cap, and a grey scarf that seemed more suitable for a woman, but he liked it and it would help keep him warm. He found a pair of unlined leather work gloves that fit his smaller hands, and that was a bit of good news as well.

“Is there a liquor store nearby?” He figured he’d buy a bottle of vodka.

“Sorry, closed up tighter than a drum. Everybody’s gone home to get ready for the storm.”

The clerk apologized again at the poor selection as he rang up everything and put it all in a cardboard box. After which he saw his last customer to the door.

“Stay safe Mister. Say, you have someplace to go right? I mean, you could bunk here if you don’t.”

“Yes I do. Thank you, and you stay safe as well.”

“I will sir. I’m staying in the office upstairs. It has a cot and blankets, and there’s food enough for me. I got me a loaf of bread; give me peanut butter and jelly and I’m good to go. I can warm up some soup too as we have a kitchen in the back I’ll be fine.”

The door was locked, and the clerk gave Illya a little wave as he turned a sign round indicating the store was now closed.

Once locating the house on Clement Street Illya parked the car in the driveway; the house was a small Cape Cod style and looked to be in good shape. There was a clear view surrounding it, with only a few large maple trees on the property, though there were plenty in the distance. It was indeed the only house in sight, and that meant no one could sneak up on him...not that he was expecting anyone to do so, but it was just old habits kicking in.

He found the key to the front door hidden beneath a garden rock where he’d been told it would be. His first thought about having to stay in this place was that UNCLE was being cheap, thanks to Accounting. Strangely enough he’d not spotted any nearby hotels. For a ski area there seemed to be a distinct lack of them; not that Waverly would have authorized one. Then again, what if this house was not available; he wondered then what the Old Man would have done?

Stepping inside and finding a wall switch, he flicked it and the lights came right on.

“Thank you Mr. Waverly!” Illya set the groceries down on a small table beside the sofa.

There was that, a pole lamp, as well as an uncomfortable looking chair in the living room along with a fireplace. No wood in sight though. In one corner sitting on a stand was a small black and white television with a set of rabbit ears.

Doing a quick survey of the rest of the house, he found it had two bedrooms each with double beds, the upstairs was unfinished...no dormer, the only thing stowed there were an old ski boot, and mismatched skis. He found a white box, what looked like a gift box, and of course, being curious, he carefully opened it.

Inside was a cardigan sweater, and was possibly the ugliest garment he’d ever seen in his life. It was trimmed in a red and white checkered pattern, with images of Christmas trees, stars, strings of lights, ornaments, candy canes and a few things that were unrecognizable...the hem was knitted in a brick pattern! The garment’s only saving grace was that the background was black. Obviously handmade, it must have been atrocious gift for someone who had abandoned it here.

He could understand why the owner would have left such a hideous piece of clothing behind, but for the time being Illya decided he would borrow it to help keep himself warm if he needed. No one would see him wearing it but himself.

All in all this house wasn’t bad, though it wasn’t the posh trappings that he expected of a ski house. He supposed it was just as good as a hotel room, well maybe not quite as good since there was no room service...no steaks with all the trimmings, as Napoleon would say.

“Was he becoming snob like his partner, looking down his nose at perfectly good accommodations.” Illya chuckled at that thought.

He quickly called the Old Man letting him know he’d arrived. No need to tell him of the limited food supplies. There was nothing Waverly could do about it.

First things first, he needed to put away his groceries and turn on the heat.  

Given the butter, eggs and cheese were the only things requiring refrigeration, they didn’t take up too much space; other than that, the fridge was bare.

Everything else he deposited on the kitchen counter, deciding it was getting too chilly to wait, as he needed to see to the heat.

After several tries, he couldn’t get the furnace to kick in, which meant he’d need plenty of wood for the fireplace until he could figure out what was wrong with the heating.

Sticking his hat on his head and slipping on his gloves, he headed outside where he found to his relief, more than enough firewood stacked along the side of the house. He proceeded to move it indoors just as the snow began to fall. If the snowfall was as deep as predicted he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back outside to retrieve more; best to keep it all inside.

He stacked it to the left of the door, and eyeing it Illya estimated he had enough wood for at least five days. He planned not to be here that long, but one never knew.

Using some shavings from one of the logs, along with rolled the rolled up paper sack from the grocer, that did the trick for kindling. Illya had a roaring fire going within minutes.

His stomach reminded him it was time to eat, but given he could be stuck here for who knew how long, he needed to carefully ration what he had.

Tonight it would be a grilled cheese sandwich, a pot of chicken noodle soup, a couple of baked potatoes with butter as well as a piping hot mug of tea. Though with his appetite, he could eat quite a bit more, he’d have to force himself not to do so.

In the morning he’d prepare tea, a slice of toast with butter, fried potatoes and a scrambled egg with cheese, on which he would pour some of the canned gravy for more flavor. It would be small breakfast, but enough to get by.

The heat from the stove top burners, as well as the oven helped warm the place very nicely while he prepared his evening meal. Much to his surprise the potatoes baked quickly as the oven was quite efficient; he only wished the furnace was as well.

Illya seated himself at the kitchen table and after wolfing down his dinner, he peeked out the window; the snow was now coming down in large flakes and the ground was already blanketed in white.

The meal was barely satisfying, though if Napoleon were here he would have been grumbling, not from the lack of food, but as to the matter of taste; he would have found it too basic. In truth he preferred gourmet cooking...this from a man whose culinary preferences included hot dogs with onions and catsup.

Kuryakin was accustomed eating less well before he came to work for UNCLE and to him tonight’s meal was in fact gourmet compared to things he’d been suffered to eat over the years, going as far back as his childhood in Ukraine.  The family fared better than most during the war, but he recalled his grandmother telling stories of having to boil leather to make soup during the Holodomor... it ended the year Illya was born.

They managed to survive, having planted their own garden from seeds stolen by his father Nicholaí from a local farming cooperative on which he worked...that too was eventually closed down by Stalin. The fruits of the Kuryakin’s small garden once harvested, were hidden in a secret root cellar and kept it from being confiscated.

Food was being taken from everyone until there was barely any left to survive on. Waves of deportations of Ukraine's farmers and the deportations and executions of the religious, intellectual and cultural leaders resulted in that devastating forced famine that killed millions more innocent individuals. They were terrible times, but these were not Illya’s memories, they were those of his family as he was born at the end of the Holodomor.

The famine in fact had been orchestrated by Joseph Stalin, done to eliminate the Ukrainian independence movement by taking away their food and starving them out of existence. This was something Illya did not know as a child, but discovered when he was trained for Soviet Intelligence.

His thoughts went from that to the starvation experienced by he, his young sister Katiya and their grandmother during the war; they were the last surviving members of the family. Mama, Papa, his older brother Dimitry, and his baby twin brothers Sasha and Misha, they were all gone…killed by the Nazis.*

After Babushka disappeared, Illya left his young sister hidden in the attic of their dacha and went in search of food as his grandmother had done. Katiya’s complaints of hunger had gone from cries to whispers, then periodic moans, and he feared she would die. He only hoped he’d be back in time with something to eat for himself and his weakening sister.

He found little to eat and upon his return he watched as German soldiers destroyed his family’s home, along with Katiya inside it… *****

Illya suffered from malnutrition and finally starvation in Kyiv that nearly killed him by the end of the war, but was miraculously rescued by the Red Army.  Once fit enough, he was shipped off to an orphanage in Moskva where he suffered from hunger once again.

There the children subsisted on weak broth, and stale bread while the teachers and staff feasted on good food that was meant for the orphans **.****

Illya realized that going hungry was a recurring theme throughout his childhood, and one that had continued into his adulthood as well. Though now it periodically happened because of his employment as a spy; it was one of many ways the enemy sought to break him when he’d been captured. It never worked though as he was a pro when it came to dealing with going hungry.

For this reason, what food supplies he had now were appreciated even more. To him it was a veritable feast compared to so many times past.

After washing the pot, frying pan, his plate and cutlery in cold water, Illya went in search of blankets and bedding, and found plenty. It was then he decided to close off the bedrooms and sleep in front of the fireplace; it would be the warmest spot in the house.

He dragged one of the mattresses to the living room and set it on the floor in front of the fire, as the sofa was too narrow on which to sleep comfortably.

After heating up pots of water on the stove and filling the bathtub, Illya stripped off his clothes and took a nice bath, relishing the hot water as it soothed his sore muscles.

He had to put his cat burglar skills to the test on this last assignment, not to steal information but to plant misinformation. It required a lot of climbing and ropework, something he hadn’t done in a while, and he reminded himself to add such skills back into his workouts in the gym at headquarters.

He smiled at the thought of how the planted information would send THRUSH around on a merry chase leading to nowhere. It would keep that satrapy occupied for a bit; another of Waverly’s brilliant plans to cause misdirection.

Illya dressed in his sweatsuit, and returning to the living room, he layered a fitted sheet, top sheet and three blankets on top of the mattress, piling three pillows there as well.

After setting a kettle on the stove, it finally whistled and he prepared another mug of tea.  He’d left the faucets open in both the kitchen and bath, just enough to allow them drip; that would prevent the pipes from freezing, since the heat was off, that was a distinct possibility.

Once settled in, he decided to watch some television as there was nothing to read. Moving the T.V. to the floor beside his bed, it would be more comfortable and he wouldn’t have to get up to turn it off.

He remembered the pretzels with a snap of his fingers, threw back the covers and retrieved the bag. Illya filled a small bowl with the salty treat; that and his tea would be nice  while he watched whatever show, if any, caught his interest.

Not owning a television himself, he knew little about the programming, though he’d seen a few shows while over Napoleon’s apartment. There was also a television in the bullpen back at headquarters where some agents who didn’t have offices gathered to wait for assignment, or to just chat.

What shows he’d seen had not impressed him at all; he preferred listening to the radio or his record albums for entertainment, or there was always a good book.

Since there were none of these options available, the television would have to keep him company.

Tonight there was a choice between the Outer Limits, which was an odd science fiction sort of show, a nonsensical program called ‘To tell the truth,’ or ‘Monday night at the movies’ showing a bit of silliness called ‘The Mating Game.’

He chose the Outer Limits. It was episode called ‘The Sixth Finger.’  In a remote Welsh mining town, a scientist discovers how to speed up evolutionary mutation. Gwyllim Griffiths, a disgruntled local miner, volunteers for the experiment, enabling the scientist to give him enhanced mental capabilities and, incidentally, a sixth finger on each hand. The mutation process continued outside of the scientist's control, and the mutant miner took over the experiment. Now equipped with superior intelligence and telekinetic powers capable of great destruction, Griffiths decided to take revenge on the mining town he loathed...’***

“Ridiculous,” Illya finally shook his head at the physical changes through which they put the character.

 

“Superior intelligence did not mean one would grow a big head, pointed ears and take on an exaggerated facial bone structure, much less grow sixth fingers!”

Not watching the show to the end, he reached over to turn off the television when a news broadcast broke in.

_“We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for a weather update. If you don’t know already, the tri-state area is being hit by a very large and dangerous snowstorm.  Everyone is advised to stay indoors for the duration, do not go out as conditions are becoming very treacherous with high winds driving snow to blizzard conditions. An estimated four feet of precipitation is predicted north of New York city, parts of Long Island as well as in Connecticut. Estimates for Central and Northern New Jersey are for as much as two feet. Stay in, stay safe and stay warm. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.”_

He switched off the television, but left on the lights, thinking it would help him feel more protected from the storm...purely psychological of course.

As he snuggled beneath the blankets the wind could be heard whistling through the eaves of the house. He laid there, scoffing at the idea of four feet of snow!  Back in Russia that was nothing, still he was not well prepared to be out in it regardless of how much snow there was.

It would most likely be necessary have to call for help to be dug out, and that could take days. Illya decided to think about that in the morning. Closing his eyes he quickly dropped off to sleep...

There was a loud crash in the middle of the night; the lights were out but Illya sat up alert, his gun drawn from beneath one of the pillows.

The lights were out, but having set a candle and matches nearby, he lit it and as he got up and threw another log on the fire.

Looking out the living room window he could see nothing as it was a complete white out. The black sedan had become invisible, as if it weren’t even there. He checked through the bedroom windows as well as the kitchen but saw nothing.

The last place he looked was upstairs, and there he found the source of the noise. A tree had come down and a branch was now protruding through a hole in the roof and snow was coming in.

He let out a curse in Russian, his mind darting with thoughts of what to do?  Downstairs in the linen closet he recalled seeing a tarp and a tool box. Hopefully what he needed was there.Heading back, he grabbed his shoes, hat, coat, the work gloves, and found what he needed...a hammer, nails and of course the tarp.  

He folded up the cloth, covering and sealing off the hole and with it, nailing it in place. At least it would keep out the snow and some of the cold.  He closed the door at the top of the stairs, removed his outerwear and shoes and got back into bed with a shiver.

Illya tossed and turned, not able to go back to sleep and pulling a page from Napoleon’s playbook, he called headquarters at three in the morning to chat with whoever was manning the communications desk.

“Open Channel F- Kuryakin.”

“Illya, hi it’s Dawn...remember me?”

“Dawn, how could I forget you? We had a lovely time together at the theatre and an even lovelier time afterwards.”

The woman giggled.

“So tell me how are things at headquarters?”

“It’s snowing pretty hard here, we’re at minimal coverage as Mr. Waverly let a lot of the support staff go home. Why do you ask?”

“Oh I was just curious.”

“Illya _where_ are you?”

“In a house about 45 minutes south of Buffalo. The storm has become quite intense here...brought down a tree on the roof and I had to seal up the hole with a tarp and nails. I believe it should hold, though Accounting will not be happy about roof repairs. For once UNCLE cannot blame the damage on me.”

Dawn laughed. “Yes you do seem to get hit with the blame a lot, unfairly I might add. A house you said? You mean one of our safe houses? Why didn’t they just let you get a hotel room? Tsk...the cheap bastards.”

“Now now Dawn, I have said this to you before about field agents…’we go where we are told and do as we are told.”

“Yes you have, but it seems a little unfair, especially when you’re caught in the middle of a blizzard.” She didn’t give him time to respond to that and asked her next question.

“So when can we get together again?”

Illya hesitated before answering. As a rule he tried not to date women at headquarters but Dawn was a stunning creature and British. Personality wise she could be bit on the dark side at times but to him that made her all the more interesting. She had a talent for quite a few things...

“Soon, as long as you keep your promise not to tell anyone that you and I have gone out together; you know how I detest the gossip and rumor mills at headquarters.”

“Scouts honor, promise Illya.”

That oath made him shiver, or was it the cold? It was a phrase often used by Napoleon and most of the time said when he was intending to break whatever promise he was making.

“Wherever did you hear that?” He finally asked. “Please do not tell me it was from Napoleon?”

“As a matter of fact it was. He said it when he promised to take me to lunch. Come to think of it he never did... _hmmm_.  Does scout’s honor mean the opposite of keeping a promise?”

“In Napoleon’s case my dear, sometimes it does. When I eventually return from my current location, I will take you to lunch.”

“Thanks Illya, that indeed sounds like a real promise!”

“All right Dawn, I must try to get back to sleep now. Thank you for keeping me company.”

“You’re welcome, and good night. Pleasant dreams.”

“Kuryakin out.”

He sighed as he closed his communicator and blew out the candle.

He tossed another log on the fire and pulling the blankets up around himself, Illya smiled just a little thinking about Dawn before he nodded off to sleep.

The next morning it was still snowing hard, and even with the daylight he could see nothing out there at all.

 

He padded into the kitchen with his feet nice and warm as he’d left on his socks. Preparing tea, a cheese and mushroom omelette, and a large portion of fried potatoes, again livening it up with some more of the turkey gravy; he tucked into his breakfast, leaving the burners on the stove top on to help warm the kitchen.

While doing the dishes the power returned and he tried having a go at the furnace again but with no luck. Illya finally walked into the living room with his tea and sat cross legged on the bed.

Pulling one of the blankets up around his shoulders, he switched on the television just in time to hear a weather report. The storm had stalled and was still raging on, though looking out the window it was easy enough to see that.

It was estimated that another eight to twelve hours of precipitation would fall.  There were many trees down, and massive power outages, and again it was urged for everyone to remain indoors.

“Anyone with common sense would know that,” Illya mumbled, though he knew there were many people out there possessing little or none.

He tossed more wood on the fire.

Changing the channels a few times, he found nothing but some local programming and a children’s show called Captain Kangaroo. That he watched until he dozed off again.

His communicator called to him, and after batting his eyes a few times to wake up, Illya quickly assembled it.

“Kuryakin here.”

“Tovarisch, how goes it? I heard you’re snowed in.”

“Napoleon, are you still on assignment in Puerto Rico?”

“I was in beautiful San Juan but my assignment finished, successfully I might add. The flight back to New York was diverted by the damn storm. At present I am staying at the Carlton Hotel in downtown Washington D.C.”

“Your assignment was completed so how did you manage a hotel room? Knowing you, you have little to no cash in your pocket, and Accounting would never have approved a hotel room.” Illya sounded a little miffed.

“Let’s say I’m friends with the head of personnel here; Agnes is quite accommodating. And where are you, may I ask?” Napoleon sensed his partner’s ire.

“I am in an UNCLE house in Ellicottville where, by the way, Mr. Waverly mentioned you have stayed on a ski holiday.”

“Mmmm, yes I remember it well. Just me and Vicky Masterson alone for the weekend...didn’t get much skiing done.”

“Napoleon I was unable to get the furnace working and am sleeping by the fireplace, do you know of some trick to get it to come on?”

“Wow the great  Illya Kuryakin can’t fix a furnace?”

“Napoleon, for pity’s sake if you know what to do...?”

“As a matter of fact I do know the trick with the furnace.”

“Good, then tell me now as I would like to keep from freezing to death. The fireplace has been helpful, but it is getting colder in here.” He proceeded to tell Napoleon about the tree and the hole in the roof while heading to the furnace which was located in a small room off the kitchen.

“Okay, tovarisch. Is the pilot lit?”

“Yes of course it is.”

“Did you adjust the thermostat?”

“Napoleon!” Illya growled.

“Did you throw the switch that’s on the left inside wall in the furnace room?”

“Switch? Umm no…. I did not see it.” Illya flicked it and on came the furnace with a roar.

“Success?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“My good deed is done for the day. Stay snug tovarisch. Gotta go, I have a date with Agnes. Solo out.”

Illya merely smiled as he shook his head.

With the heat working he felt even more secure, though he continued to use the fireplace as well. He liked the look and the smell of it and it reminded him of some happy moments from his childhood when his family once gathered round the hearth in their little dacha. He recalled his babushka making a little red Petrushka puppet dance in front of the fire.*

He passed the time watching more television, listening to weather reports, and napping. Finally his stomach grumbled, and knew it was time to eat.

With his rationing plan he decided to have only one large baked potato for lunch, though he later nibbled on some pickles and drank more tea. Having the pickles was a miniscule version of _zakuski,_ a Russian custom to munch on snacks, often pickled, as one drank, though he lacked the vodka to go with them. The strong flavor of the pickles helped stave off his hunger just enough to see him through until dinner, though another mug of tea hadn’t hurt at all.

Dinner tonight would consist of another  baked potato with butter and gravy. A slice of toasted bread with butter, and the tomato soup. Topping it off was again, a hot mug of tea or perhaps two.

Though he was glad to have his little supply of food, it was already becoming boring. Soup, eggs, potatoes and mushrooms, and oh yes, the pickles and pretzels. Not exactly exciting. He guessed living in the west had spoiled him after all; back home there would be people who would kill for the food he had here.

Illya sighed. He really wished he had some vodka...

After cleaning up, he again laid on the mattress. Now he watched whatever program was on the television,  whether interesting or not; it was keeping him company.   

He thought of calling headquarters again but decided against it. Finally, he turned off the telly and went to sleep, not even paying attention to what time it was. He still left on the lights.

Illya was startled awake by a loud booming rumble.

“Not another downed tree,” he moaned. Then he realized what he was hearing was thunder. It was a particularly rare occurrence, but when lightning flashed followed immediately by another loud boom he was satisfied that’s what it was.

What came next was definitely not thunder. Someone was pounding at the door.  

 _“Chto, chyort voz'mi?”_ He swore.

Illya quickly grabbed his gun and approached the door, staying to the right of it as he loudly called out.

“Who is it?”

“Please Mister I need help, can I come inside? I’m lost and heck, it’s freezing out here!” It was the voice of a woman.

He refused to believe that an enemy agent had found him here in the middle of a blizzard.

“Just a second,” he tucked his gun in the waist of his sweatpants and covered it with his sweatshirt before opening the door.

Standing in front of him with snow swirling around her was a woman dressed in a pink ski jacket and matching pants, along with a pair of furry white boots. She quickly lowered her fur lined hood, revealing a beautiful rosy cheeked face, and blonde hair. It was pinned up in a sort of beehive do, though a stray lock dangled down in the middle of her forehead.

“Yes, please come inside before you catch your death,” he waved her in, quickly closing and locking the door behind her.

“Gee thanks so much! I was coming from skiing and sort of got myself lost. I was an idiot for thinking I could get home in this storm. Thank goodness I saw your lights as I don’t think I would have lasted much longer out there.”

“Then I am glad I left them on, please let me take your jacket. Are you hungry?”

“Starved, but don’t you want to know my name?” She batted her eyelashes. Her eyes were bright blue, just like his.

“Why yes of course, let me introduce myself first...I am Illya Kuryakin.”

“That’s Russian. What a coincidence. My name’s Anna Marina...my dad came from Russia, though he died when I was little. His last name was actually Marin, but he called me his little Marina. My mom was American; she died last year.”

“This one would never make a good spy,” Illya thought to himself. ”So sorry for your loss.”

“Were you born in Russia?”She asked.”You sound more English.”

He knew better than to answer truthfully. “I was in fact born and raised in Great Britain but of Russian parents who immigrated there. They are both deceased as well. Now come you must get warm by the fire while I make you some soup. I have limited food supplies as I was only able to find some basics. The shop in town was fairly well cleaned out.”

“Oh I wouldn’t want to take your food Illya…”

“Nonsense, you are not taking it as I am giving it... now sit, get yourself warm.”

“Illya may I ask where we are?”

“Ellicottville,” he called to her from the kitchen.

“Wow I really got myself lost for sure...never heard of it.”

“Perhaps you have heard of the Poverty Hill ski area?”

“Yes I have, so that’s where it is. I was wondering about it only the other day.”

While warming the soup, he peeked out at Anna through the kitchen door and discovered she’d hung up her clothing to dry...all of it. She was completely naked with only one of the blankets held in front of her, leaving her back and bottom exposed.

“Are you warm enough?” He called as he ducked out of sight.

“I’m fine. This fire is great.”

He came in with her mug of soup and a slice of toast, carrying them on a tray.

“Here is your meal, meager though it is. It is better than nothing.”

“Thank you!” She struggled to move while while holding the blanket around herself.

“Wait, perhaps this will help?” Putting down the tray, he held out the cardigan and turned away while she slipped into it and buttoned it up.

It was long enough to cover her, though she’d left the top few buttons open to reveal an ample cleavage, at which Illya tried not to stare.

She sat on the sofa, quietly sipped her soup and nibbling on the toast. Once she was finished Illya took away the tray but left it on the counter to wash everything in the morning.

“Let me get more blankets.” he said.” I will sleep on the sofa, you take the mattress. It is not warm enough risk opening the bedrooms as the heat has been going off with the periodically power outages.”

“Don’t be silly, that couch is too small. I think we can share the mattress,” she smiled at him rather innocently.

Kuryakin shrugged before climbing under the covers, scrunching up the blankets between them. He could do this...

“Here I have something that’ll keep us extra warm,” she dug into her shoulder bag and produced a bottle of vodka. “Nicolaí brand, 100 proof.”

That of course made Illya smile. Anna went into the kitchen and grabbed two glasses and climbing under the covers, she poured their drinks.

 _“Vashe zdorov'ye!”_ He said as they clinked their glasses together.

“I remember that! My dad used to say it, it means something like ‘cheers’ right?”

“Roughly yes. Your father did not teach you Russian?”

“No, he wanted me to be an American.”

Several more drinks later, they stared into each other’s blue eyes; one thing led to another and Anna peeled off the sweater, complaining she was a bit warm. It was obvious that she was a bit of a free spirit, and the vodka chased away any inhibitions she might have had, if any.

Illya couldn’t resist her stunning breasts and buried his face in them, kissing and teasing them with his tongue. Off came his clothing and they shagged like a pair of bunnies into the wee hours.

His enthusiasm brought her to orgasm multiple times as they made love again and again. It must have been their hot Russian blood and the vodka that did it...

Finally exhausted, they fell asleep in each other’s arms in front of the fire, nice and snug while the storm continued to rage outside.

In the morning, if you could call it that, there was only snow...more snow and no sun. It was dark, dreary and still he could see nothing outside the windows but a curtain of white.

Illya quietly rose and dressed himself and tossed another log in the fireplace. Preparing breakfast, he brought in a single plate with scrambled eggs, french toast...though it was a shame there was no syrup, as well as fried potatoes. He brought two forks and made two mugs of tea as well.

“Anna,” he whispered. “Wake up, it is time for breakfast.”

“Mmmm, I’m awake and it smells delicious.” She sat up and stretched, letting the covers drop.

“Only one plate?”

“There is enough for both of us. I apologize as it is…” Illya held up a forkful of egg and fed it to her.

“Don’t you dare apologize for this...it’s perfect.” Anna picked up the other fork and fed him a bite of potatoes.

They sat cross legged and naked on the mattress, feeding each other and it became quite sensual. They’d nearly finished eating when the nuzzling and kissing began again, and they disappeared beneath the covers. They slept, screwed, slept again, screwed again right past dinner time.

The power had gone out again which meant the furnace wouldn’t run. Illya’s rationale was to maintain their body heat by continuing to have sex. Anna didn’t care about his reasoning at all, and just urged him on as he brought her to yet another orgasm while he climaxed.

That’s how the spent the night keeping warm...

The next morning the sun was finally shining. The snow had stopped but it was so deep that it nearly reached the top of the front windows as well as the door.

Opening the kitchen window in back; Illya checked to make sure the vent from the furnace was not blocked, it was a little and he stretched out using a broom to clear it.  If he hadn’t they would surely have suffered from carbon monoxide poisoning if the heat came back on. After cleaning the vent the power indeed came back, as did the heat.

Illya waited a bit before heading to the bathroom, taking a hot shower by himself until Anna joined him and then the sex began again.

Once they finished, it was time to make breakfast. Having skipped dinner the night before, they were both ravenous.

Today it was an eggs with cheese and sauteed mushrooms, with gravy. Toast, fried potatoes and of course tea...he poured a little vodka in it.

They laid back down on the mattress, turning on the television for a bit. Today it was an amusing show called ‘The Real McCoys’, followed by a gameshow called ‘Concentration’...which wasn’t very difficult. They found themselves both shouting the correct choices at the television screen.

At noon there was something called ‘The Search for Tomorrow,’ followed by similar sort of program called ‘The Guiding Light’, then some local programming followed by ‘As the World Turns’ then ‘Password.’ All mindless drivel; between programs they had more sex.

At three in the afternoon the power went out again, as a wind storm blew in hindering any cleanup that might have been under way. That meant no heat again as the furnace had an electric starter.

Illya threw more wood on the fire, stirred it up with a poker and crawled beneath the covers again, snuggling with Anna.

They spoke little, and just enjoyed the sex, knowing they’d part ways sooner or later, leaving them with nothing but pleasant carnal memories of their time together.

While she slept he pulled his communicator.

“Open Channel F- Napoleon are you there?”

“Hi there. You okay?”

“Yes, the power is out...again. No television and no heat other than the fireplace.” He said nothing about the girl.

“Did it stop snowing? Are you warm enough, got food?”

“Yes though there seems to be a windstorm now. All I have been doing is eating, sleeping and watching television, when the power is not out. I have enough food to manage but I do find myself craving a nice juicy steak and want to have one when I get home.”

“That sounds like a plan, we’ll do it together at

Delmonico’s for that steak with baked potato and how about asparagus with a nice hollandaise sauce?

“Da, a very good plan except I might pass on potatoes and any soup. Dare I ask, what have you been up to?”

“Oh, well I went to the Smithsonian museum, just for something to do.”

“What about your friend...Alice, Agnes?”

 _“Agnes_ is working and tonight she has a date with her fiancé.”

“Fiancé? Napoleon you really are terrible.”

“Hey, she’s willing, I’m willing. Nothing wrong with that. She’s not married yet.”

“Yes, willing is a good thing I suppose,” Illya smiled, putting his finger to his lips to silence Anna as she woke.

Illya’s communicator chirped in mid conversation.

“Napoleon I must sign off with you...another call.”

“Fine, see you soon partner.”

“Kuryakin here,” he answered.

“Ah yes, young man how are you faring?” Waverly asked.

“As best as can be expected under the circumstances. There has been problems with the electricity going on and off, so I am making do with the fireplace. Oh, there will be some needed repairs on the house sir.”

“Good God man, what did you do now?”

“Nothing at all,” he felt strange hearing Waverly’s accusatory tone.

”A tree fell onto the roof during the night and made a fair sized hole. I patched it as best I could with some nails and a tarp.”

“Oh... well, then we’ll have to get workmen there once the weather permits. I do have good news for you; we have a team on the way to dig you out. You should be extricated within the next few hours.” It was then Illya realized the snow had finally stopped as had the wind.

“Excellent news, thank you sir. Kuryakin out.”

“What is that?” She pointed at the communicator pen.

“Oh...it is like a walkie talkie my company is developing. I was speaking to my partner and then to my boss. As you heard they are coming to dig me out so we should have everything, including ourselves, tidied up. My boss has no idea you are here and I must keep it that way.”

Anna giggled.” Don’t want him to know you’ve been making love to me like a sex starved man?”

“Hardly sex starved, but my business is my business.”

The mattress was returned to the bedroom. The blankets and left there, though the sheets he stuffed into his duffel...no need to leave evidence. Lastly, the television was returned to the stand in the corner.

Illya made a pot of cream of mushroom soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, baked several potatoes over which he poured the last of the turkey gravy and sauteed mushrooms.  He hard boiled the remaining eggs and let them sit with the pickles in their brine, after which it gave them an interesting flavor.

It was a fine celebratory meal at being rescued. All that was needed was the final bit of the vodka which he poured into two glasses. Raising his, Illya saluted whatever forces in nature that had created this storm and brought him Anna Marina.  

“To the storm and you my dear and your wonderful company.”

She smiled,”And to you too.” Raising her glass to him, the girl downed her vodka like a true Russian after which she went upstairs to shower and dress. It was time to return to the real world.

Once she was finished, Illya did the same and put on his black suit and turtleneck.

“My don’t you look mysterious,” Anna announced. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you looked like a spy.”

“Me a spy,” he gave a falsetto laugh. “I work for an electronics company that specializes in novelties like the pen you saw me using.“ He never asked her where she lived or worked, knowing it was for the best.

He looked at his watch as he heard the roar of an engine out in front of the house.

“One last thing to do.” He took the cardigan back to its box upstairs and surveyed his patchwork. It held together well enough preventing any further damage; not that Accounting would commend his actions.  They only spoke to him via Waverly when he’d cost them money.

His communicator called to him at last.

“Kuryakin here.”

“Hi, yes Mr. Kuryakin. Ken Jenkins with transportation here. We’re clearing the snow as we speak and should have you out of there in about twenty minutes..”

“Thank you Mr. Jenkins, you will be a most welcome sight. I shall await your knock at the door. Out.”

He and Anna sat on the sofa at a respectable distance from each other...their time together was an end. That meant they needed to act as though nothing had happened between them, for the benefit of Jenkins and his team.

Finally that knock came at the door and Ken Jenkins stood there smiling as he flashed his UNCLE ID; it wasn’t often he got to meet one of the Command’s best.

Draped over his arm was a grey parka and in his free hand he held a pair of snow boots as well as warm leather gloves.

“Figured you could use these sir.” He eyed Anna but said nothing.

“Thank you Jenkins, I most certainly can. This young lady is Miss Marina… a weary traveler that I took in from the storm.”

“Hi, thanks for coming to the rescue, both you and Mr. Kuryakin I mean. My car is just a little ways up the road if you don’t mind digging it out for me?”

“Sure Miss, no problem.”

Illya put on the coat and boots, and gathering his duffel, and the cardboard box that now contained the last of the potatoes and the pickles. He stepped out into the fresh air for the first time in days and was followed by the girl who Jenkins directed to the UNCLE van sitting in the driveway.  

Illya paused to bid Anna a polite farewell. She understood and said goodbye while shaking his hand.

“Feels good to get out of there,” Illya said to Jenkins as he made his way to the sedan.

“Are you sure about that?” Jenkins smiled mischievously, glancing at the girl as she climbed into the van.

“I merely gave the her a place to stay, and food, but  nothing more. She would have frozen to death in her car had I not done so,” Illya lied through his teeth.”Do not mistake me for a Casanova like my partner, Mr. Solo.”

“Gee sorry Mr. Kuryakin. I meant nothing by it.”

“If I hear anything said by anyone at headquarters about a girl being snowed in with me, I will hold you personally responsible for ...whatever is said. Am I clear?” Illya flashed him that icy blue stare that gave the man shivers, and it definitely wasn’t from the cold weather.

“Yes sir, crystal clear.  We...we put chains on your tires for you. Things are pretty rough, but passable. Just keep to the main roads Mr. Kuryakin.”

Jenkins and his team climbed into their vehicle and headed up the road to Anna’s car.

Illya started up the sedan, letting the engine warm up before he left. He removed his hat, though he kept on the parka.  

Putting the car into reverse, he backed out of the driveway, pausing for a second to look at the house that had in essence save his life, but he sighed at the memories he’d have about Anna.

 _“Proshchal'nyy privet,”_ he bid his farewell and pulled away.

His mind was now on that nice piece of steak at Delmonico’s and of course, seeing Dawn. He hadn’t forgotten about her and a promise was a promise. He decided he would give her that nice grey scarf.

Maybe she’d need some warming up in other ways as well...

He turned on the radio and the song playing was quite appropriate... Blue skies. Illya was in such a good mood that he sang along.

_“Blue skies smiling at me, nothing but blue skies do I see. Bluebirds singing a song nothing but bluebirds all day long_

_Never saw the sun shining so bright, never saw things goin’ so right. Noticing the days hurrying by, when you are in love, my how they fly…”_ he stopped singing _._

No he wasn’t in love, he’d been in lust the past few days and was fine with it. She was willing, he was willing, that was how Napoleon put it.

Illya was suddenly filled with momentary tinge of panic; was Napoleon Solo rubbing off on him? 

After the long drive, Kuryakin finally arrived at headquarters; his partner walking in right after him through the agent entrance.

“Pleasant respite tovarisch?” Napoleon asked as they received their ID badges.

“Pleasant? I suppose being snowbound alone in a house, with mostly a fireplace for warmth, and little to do or eat is pleasant, then yes I suppose it was.” Without realizing it, he let a smile slip.

Napoleon suddenly pulled his partner to a halt as they walked down the grey corridor, looking him straight in the eye.

“You got laid, didn’t you?”

“What the devil are you talking about?“

“Hey I’m a man who can tell these things, now fess up. Who was she?”

“Napoleon, a gentleman does not say.”

“Aha! You just admitted you were with a woman by saying that.” Napoleon jabbed Kuryakin in the shoulder with his index finger.

“I can neither confirm or deny that I was...or was not, ”Illya stepped away with a shrug.

“Now if you do not mind I am tired, but first I need to write my report for Mr. Waverly; I had after all completed an assignment before the storm hit. I suggest you get going with your report as well. Mr. Waverly is dealing with a cold and I suspect the weather has complicated matters for him logistics wise. Complications and colds do not mix well for him, and such things we both know tries his patience.”

“Well all right then,”Napoleon gave a sharp salute, getting that he was essentially being told to ‘bugger off’.

“Quick question. Illya you didn’t happen to find a cardigan sweater in the house did you?”

“A sweater? No there was nothing but bedding, no clothes that I saw,” he kept a straight face as he lied “Why do you ask...did you leave it there on one of your so-called ski trips?”

“Sort of.  Well, I’m going to go change my clothes and freshen up. Believe it or not I wrote my report in Washington and had it typed. It’s ready to give to the Old Man once I am properly coiffed.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my partner?” Illya called back as he stepped into the elevator with a wry smile on his lips.

He chuckled to himself about the cardigan, thinking if only Napoleon knew where it had been.

Now as for Kuryakin, he was going in search of Dawn, even before he typed up his report.

He had that grey scarf tucked in his pocket to give her; it would help keep her warm until other things popped up to do that for her...

  
  


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[* ref.     “Beginnings”](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6767104/1/Beginnings)

[ ** ref.   “The Orphanage” ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7966571/1/The-Orphanage)

*** ref. “The Sixth Finger” Outer Limits starring David

            McCallum


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